


radio silence

by talktomelikewebestfriendshoes



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Gay, M/M, Mathematics, Minecraft, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talktomelikewebestfriendshoes/pseuds/talktomelikewebestfriendshoes
Summary: dream struggles with math. george is his hot tutor. need I say more.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> @papaperky made me do it

Clay sat at his desk. The paper in front of him seemed so daunting- too many numbers and symbols for his brain to process.

He was in remedial math, but he still couldn’t manage to grasp it.

  
  


_ Are you even trying, Clay? This is pathetic. I expected better from you. _

_ Pathetic.  _

_ I expected better.  _

  
  


His teacher’s words echoed in his brain, refusing to subside for even a moment.

The thought of failure on its own was enough to send him into a panic; he was used to being praised. So, when Mr. Anderson handed him his report card for the 6 weeks with two bolded “F”s written in red Arial font, his heart crumbled.

  
  


_ I expected better. _

  
  


“So did I,” he whispers to himself aloud.

  
  


He couldn’t help it. No matter how much time or effort he put into studying; no matter how many pages and pages of notes he took; no matter how many hobbies he set aside to make room for extra credit work; it didn’t make a difference.

The red “F” stayed through it all. The most loyal of enemies he could imagine.

  
  


He put his pencil down again. He was starting to have a cramp in his thumb.

He stares at the question for a moment longer.

  
  


_ It’s easy, Clay. Just answer it. _

_ It should be easy. _

_ Why is it not? _

  
  


Clay stands from his chair and pushes it underneath the desk. He heads for the door to his bedroom.

  
  


_ I’m done with this. _

  
  


His mom sits at the dining room table down the hallway. He can hear her typing something on a keyboard.

  
  


“Mom?”

  
  


“Oh, hello Clay! Did you finish your math work?”

  
  


He enters the kitchen and goes straight to the pantry.

  
  


“No, unfortunately. I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

  
  


“Oh, I’m sorry, hun.”

  
  


Silence fills the room for a moment as Clay reaches for a box of Cheerios.

He pulls his head out of the pantry and closes the door behind him.

  
  


“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll just have to work on it again later, maybe tomorrow. I’m lucky it’s not due ‘til Friday, I guess.”

  
  


“Well, you definitely will be working on it tomorrow. I just scheduled you a tutor.”

  
  


“Mom! I said no tutors! I wanna figure this out on my own.”

  
  


“I know what you said! You don’t get a choice, he’ll be here at 4:15 tomorrow. His name is George, and he’s only a year above you!”

  
  


Clay pauses for a moment.

  
  


_ A boy my age. That almost makes it worse. _

  
  


“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you trying to help.”

  
  


_ Why me? _

_ Why can’t I just be normal? _

  
  


Clay takes a small ceramic bowl from the kitchen counter and leaves the room again.

As he reopens his door, he can hear a subtle sigh come from his mother.

  
  


_ I’m sorry I let you down. _


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the next morning ig

The sun blares in Clay’s eyes and covers his body in a blanket of unwelcome heat. He turns over in bed onto his left side. 

He’s tired. 

He’s not ready for morning yet.

  
  


He was up all night trying to get this one question…

… the last question.

Maybe that’s why it bothered him so much. He was so close, yet so, so far from the end.

  
  


And to add to it, he was late for school.

  
  


He hadn’t fully comprehended what the golden rays coating his face had meant until it was no longer present. Until he had turned over to avoid it.

It was 6:58 a.m.

His eyes burst open as he felt himself practically falling out of bed. He wasn’t  _ really _ falling, but it felt like he had lost control of his legs. They were moving before he had the chance to stop them. 

  
  


His head ached and his eyelids felt heavy. It was almost as if he was high. Staying awake for a solid 23 hours straight running on nothing but ultraviolet Monster energy drinks will do that to you.

He forced his sliding closet door aside with a jolt. His eyes danced across the rack.

  
  


_ What to wear, what to wear… _

  
  


He didn’t know why he cared so much about it, specifically today. The only thing special about today was his first tutoring session.

As much as he wanted to be able to learn it all on his own, he couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to have a helping hand. Maybe this George guy would be the missing piece he needed to solve this equation.

  
  


This freshman-level question for his junior year remedial math class.

It sounds so dumb when you put it like that.

  
  


He finally settled on a plain white T-shirt concealed under a bright green hoodie. As for pants, he didn't have time to get fancy today. He would have to settle for a pair of gray sweatpants.

  
  


It’ll do. It’s not like he needed to impress George anyway. He’s just a tutor.

  
  


_ Just a tutor. He’s here to help you. Let him help you. _

  
  


Clay grabs his backpack off his desk and runs speedily into the kitchen. The smell of pancakes clogs his nostrils and brings him a wave of serotonin he wasn’t expecting.

  
  


“You… made pancakes?” he asks rhetorically.

  
  


His mother nods. “Yes! I noticed you were having a hard time the last few days, so I wanted to cheer you up.”

“I know these are your favorite.”

  
  


A small smile took over his face. “Thanks, Mom.”

  
  


She gave him one right back, handing him a plate. The fluffy, sweet, syrupy pancakes invited him to relax.

He could wait 15 minutes.

  
  


When he finished eating, standing up as the barstool creaked beneath him, he wondered how much time had passed.

15 minutes. Just like he said.

  
  


“Thanks again for this, Mom. It means a lot.”

His tone was cold, but he meant it. It was the highlight of his week.

  
  


“Of course, honey. Now get to school. Your dad took an uber to work today, so the car’s all yours.”

  
  


“Thank you. Have a good day.”

  
  


Why was his voice so shaky? It was almost as if he was nervous. Nervous to go into class and face his teacher; nervous to be asked about how his work was coming along and having to say it wasn’t.

Maybe he was just tired.

He would tell himself that was it.

  
  


The radio blared as he sat in the driver’s seat of the car. It was a song he didn’t know, but he felt like he knew all the lyrics already.

Radio songs are so repetitive. He wondered if maybe the reason he knew it was he had heard it before, but just didn’t care enough.

  
  


What a metaphor.

  
  


The things he learned in class seemed familiar— easy, even— only because he had learned them in previous years and forgotten. He forgot because he didn’t care then. It wasn’t a big deal then.

But it was a big deal now. 

  
  


The question was playing at full volume in his brain. He knew it was there; it wouldn’t shut up. But all he knew were the lyrics— the way you’re supposed to sing it; complete it— and not the title— the simple answer that could easily be found in the lyrics if he only knew where to look.

  
  


How can it be such a simple concept, yet somehow still be so complicated?


End file.
